The mother woke from a dream the day after
the horrible news; she had seen a man pouring
milk into a river, “regardless of expense.”
How could a mother ever trust such a woman?
She has devastated my son like two tractor
trailers going off the road in different directions,
killing people on both sides of the opposite median.

The son was already downstairs drinking eye-openers,
but his eyes had been open all night. Nevertheless,
he dreamed of jumping from a plane, but
his parachute would not open, nor the backup.
He never hit the bottom, as far as he knew he was still
falling. It was cold, the air was thin, he needed another
Bloody Mary, his phone chimed in a text message.

The un-bride said hope u arnt 2 mad & understand
best ths way what if I calld off marriage 2morow lol!
He called back. Not the kind of thing you text is it?
Oh, sorry. I’m kind of in a rush, but I know we have
work to do because I had a dream that we were making
love, but there was a harp in my vagina, and you made this awful
twanging sound. The dog was irritated and growled at you.
I think we need counseling or music therapy or something.

–Bobby Steve Baker,
Numbered Bones (2011)
Accents Publishing

More from Bobby Steve Baker:

• “Homo Lupus Homini” by Bobby Steve Baker
• “There Is No Medicine for What I Got” by Bobby Steve Baker
• “Chaos, Clarity and Contradiction” by Bobby Steve Baker
• “Wild Game” by Bobby Steve Baker
• Numbered Bones at the Accent Store

Bobby Steve Baker was born in Ontario, Canada in 1951, but has lived and practiced cosmetic surgery in Lexington, Kentucky for many years. He holds an MFA degree in Poetry from National University and has published in various literary journals, including Ann Arbor Review, Boston Literary Magazine, and Grey Sparrow Journal. In 2009, his poetry in tinfoildresses was nominated for a Pushcart Prize. Bobby grew up in a home where poetry was ever-present but began to write seriously only in the past few years.